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honeyedmiller · 1 year ago

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Ring | Joel Miller

pairing: husband!joel x wife!reader

warnings: tommy’s being a little shit lol, marriage, reader is unintentionally oblivious for a bit, no outbreak, reader is depicted to be shorter than joel, au where ellie is joel and reader’s adopted daughter but she’s only very briefly mentioned, smut (bathroom quickie), slight jealousy, no use of y/n. 18+, minors dni.

word count: 2k

synopsis: Tommy teases Joel about you and him having marriage problems when he notices you aren’t wearing your ring.

quick one shot in honor of 700 followers??? oh my god?? i love u all sm thank you!!!

this was honestly kinda poorly written. forgive me :’)

“Hey big brother, what’s up with you and your girl?” Tommy asks, brows furrowed as he leans up against the counter next to Joel.

“Hell are ya talkin’ about, Tommy?” Joel continues to chop onions for the barbecue you guys were throwing today.

“Are you guys, I dunno, having marriage problems?” Tommy quirks a brow, and Joel halts his movements. He sets the knife down on the counter while averting his gaze up to his brother, expression clearly displaying pure annoyance.

Tommy might’ve bugged the shit out of Joel, but he knew he had good intentions. So why the hell would he be asking this?

“What makes you say that?” Joel crosses his arms over his chest now, waiting for Tommy to spew some bullshit at him.

“She’s not wearin’ her ring.” Tommy shrugs, and Joel’s permanent furrowed brow lines deepen even further.

“The hell she ain’t. She always wears her ring.” Joel argues back.

“Go see for yourself big brother.” Tommy gestures outside, where Joel pushes past him and slides open the glass door to find you at the cooler talking with some random new guy from the neighborhood. Joel noticed that he was trying to flirt with you, and being the naturally kindhearted and welcoming person you were, you didn’t catch on.

Joel also noticed that Tommy was right—you weren’t wearing your ring.

If there was one thing that Joel learned from you over the years you’ve been together and three years married, it was how to properly communicate his feelings. He used to be so closed off and would bottle everything up, letting stuff bother him until he became so distant.

You weren’t having any of that, though, so you sat him down one day and told him that you needed proper communication between you both. You were a saint with Joel, being so patient and kind to him as he was trying to unlearn his previous ways of shutting himself out from everyone around him when he didn’t exactly know how to communicate something.

Some days were harder than others, but ever the sweetheart you are, you never rushed him or got irritated when he couldn’t exactly seem to form his words to you. You just held him and kissed him repeatedly, letting him know it was okay and he could take his time.

This time around, he didn’t seem to have a single bit of a problem telling you what he was feeling. So, he walked up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your temple to show the man that was so clearly interested in you that you were taken.

“Hey darlin’.” Joel rasps into your ear, kissing your shoulder afterward.

“Hey baby. This is Dominic. He’s new to the neighborhood. Dominic, this is my husband, Joel.”

Joel sported a shit-eating grin when Dominic’s body went rigid at the word husband. Joel stuck his hand out to him, and Dominic apprehensively shook his hand. Joel’s grip was firmer than it regularly was, and Dominic flinched in the slightest.

“Thanks for keeping my beautiful wife some company while I got stuff ready for the grill.” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and you looked up at him with a quirked brow.

He offered you a tight-lipped smile when his gaze met yours, clearing his throat. “Can I steal you for a minute, baby?” He asks, arms possessively wrapping around your frame. You nod, confused as to why Joel was acting a bit strange suddenly.

He intertwines your hand with his, and you excuse yourself from Dominic as Joel led you into the house and up to your bedroom.

“What’s this about, Joel?” You question as he closes the bedroom door, locking it behind him.

“Where’s your wedding ring at, baby?” He asks, looking down at you. A glint of something flashes across his eyes, but you couldn’t put your finger on what.

“‘S in my jewelry box. I didn’t wanna lose it helping around the backyard today or swimming if I did, so I knew it would be safe in there instead. Why?” Your curiosity is piqued.

Joel slowly maneuvers himself past you and over to your jewelry box, opening the top of it to firstly find your wedding ring neatly placed.

He takes the ring out of the jewelry box and walks over to you, grabbing your left hand to slip it onto your ring finger once more. Right where it belongs, perfectly fitted. He brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly.

“Tommy’s bein’ a little shit, as always. Came into the kitchen with assumptions that we were having ‘marriage problems’ because you weren’t wearing your ring.” He tsked, shaking his head.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“Y’gotta stop letting Tommy get into your head, J. I love you, I’m yours, and I’m not going anywhere.” You reassured him, and his lips curled up in the slightest.

“I know baby, I just can’t help but feel jealous when I see another man flirting with my woman.”

“Jealous? Of who?” You were puzzled at Joel’s confession, resting a steady hand on his warm chest.

“That new neighbor. Dylan or whatever the fuck his name is.” Joel spat.

You had no idea Dominic was even flirting with you. You thought he was just being friendly. Fuck, maybe Joel was right. Maybe you are oblivious sometimes.

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down so his lips envelope yours. One hand of his is splayed over the small of your back while the other rests on the outside of your thigh, rubbing small circles into your exposed skin. The dress you were wearing today was just another distraction for Joel and a reminder that he needed to behave himself or else the whole neighborhood would hear you saying his name like a prayer on Sunday morning.

Joel’s cock stirred at the thought, and he groaned into the kiss. You pulled apart from him and moved your hands down to his chest again.

“C’mon cowboy, people are gonna wonder where we’re at.” You grin, going to the bedroom door to unlock it. You were about halfway down the hallway before Joel tugged you into the bathroom on your right side.

“They can wait.” He closed the door and pressed you up against it, locking the lock before smashing his lips to yours.

There was so much hunger behind his kiss. You felt slick start to pool onto your panties, the want in your core licking a flame up your body. You moan into the kiss, gripping the back of his head to mold yourself even further into him. It was nothing but teeth clashing, lips smacking, and fervor for one another as the kiss continued.

“Gotta make this quick, babydoll.” Joel finally broke the kiss as you softly whined, and he turned you around to move you in front of the wide mirror. You met his gaze through the reflection, nothing but hunger in his eyes.

He lifted up your dress and pulled your panties down your legs in one swift motion. His middle finger wasted no time in collecting the slick arousal between your legs, causing you to moan softly.

“Always so ready for me, baby.” Joel chuckled darkly as he brought his middle finger up to suck your arousal off of it. He looked you right into the reflection of your eyes as he did so. The sight was nearly pornographic.

You bite your lip and plead with your eyes; please please please just fuck me, Joel.

His middle finger made its way back down to your slick cunt before he pushed it into you, pumping languidly. He curled his thick finger to hit the spot that drove you wild, and you found yourself gripping onto the counter for dear life. You decided, though, that his finger just wasn’t enough in this moment.

“Please, J. I need you.”

“Need you too, baby.” Joel got the message clear as day, unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper and jeans button in record time, pulling down the fabric along with his boxers. His painful erection sprung free, and he lined himself up with your throbbing, aching cunt.

He easily found home in you as he sunk to the hilt, groaning at how good you felt around him.

“Be a good girl for me and tell me who you belong to.” Joel’s voice was dark, teetering on the line of possessive. You found it hot, though.

“Y-Yours, Joel. ‘M all yours.” You can barely say your words as he starts to rock his hips, deliciously stretching you out every time his hips collided with your ass.

“That’s it, baby, mine. No one else’s. Perfect little pussy is mine, you’re mine, mine.” He gritted into your hair, pulling you back against him by your waist as he rocked his hips up into you. You leaned your head back on his shoulder, moaning his name softly.

“Gotta be quiet, baby, can’t have anyone hearin’ us now.” Joel kissed you sloppily to hide your lewd moans, hips snapping up into you.

“Fuck, Joel, feel s’good.” Your words start to mesh together like you’re absolutely cock drunk.

Joel bends you back down over the sink and gently wraps his hand around your throat, forcing you to look up into the mirror as he pounds into you from behind.

“So fuckin’ beautiful. Takin’ me so well, sweet girl. Been teasin’ me with this little dress on all day.” Joel lets go of your throat and slides his hand down to your front, rubbing your clit in fast, circular motions.

You barely have time to process that your body is about to give into Joel’s expert touch. You squeeze your eyes shut, jaw falling completely slack as you let out an accidental loud moan. Joel didn’t even stop you that time, because he himself was already on the brink of an orgasm.

“Cum with me, my love.” Joel groans into your ear. You both let go and just let it happen, praying that the music playing in the backyard is loud enough to cover your wanton moans as you both come down from your orgasms. Joel was reluctant to move out of you at first, but he couldn’t take the way you were clenched down on him anymore.

You were so fucking intoxicating and if it were his choice, he’d gladly be buried into your sweet, warm cunt all of the time.

Reality trickled back in around you both as he pulled out of you with a groan, both breathless and panting. After readjusting and redressing himself, he grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet above the toilet and wet it, wiping down the excess of his remnants on the apex of your inner thighs. He planted a kiss on the back of your thigh, pulling your panties up on you as he stood back up.

He helped fix your hair and readjusted you so you looked almost completely normal, albeit your face felt hot and you had a post-fuck look on your face.

He brought you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he kissed your hair.

“I love you, baby.” He murmurs softly, rocking you for a minute.

“I love you too.” Your reached your left hand up to hook onto his forearm that was wrapped around you, giving it a squeeze. Your ring glinted in the sunlight that pooled into the bathroom window, and Joel smiled happily.

“We’ll continue this later tonight, baby. Maybe Sarah and Ellie can spend the night at a friend’s house tonight.”

Your lips curl into a smile at his suggestion, and you lean up to kiss his cheek.

“Let’s get back out to the party.” He pats your ass and opens the door, coming out after you. You make your way down the stairs, Joel hot on your trail.

Tommy gives Joel a knowing look of ‘I know exactly what you two were up to.’

Joel scoffs at Tommy and grumbles as he moves past his younger brother.

“Marriage problems my ass.”

tag list: @party-hearses ; @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @cool-iguana

#joel miller #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller imagines #joel miller smut #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x afab!reader

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 10 months ago

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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

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pettytiredandjewish · 7 months ago

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you know one thing ive noticed that irks me is that how hamas supporters always tend to attack on israeli supporters like the latter will be minding their own business on social media and just have a simple israeli flag in their bio; and then out of nowhere you have all these self-righteous so-called pro-palestinians who are really just hamas supporters attacking and calling all types of curses to those israeli supporters just because of the israeli flag. however has anyone ever seen an israeli supporter go to a so-called pro-palestinian's page and attacked them for having a palestinian flag in their bio? NO.

Oh I’ve noticed. The amount of hate messages that I’ve seen pro pal people post on random Israel or Jewish blogs/social media pages (who are literally minding their own business) is ridiculous. I’ve heard that it’s really bad on TikTok. I guess a whole bunch of pro pal and anti Zionist people started spamming someone on TikTok (mind you- I don’t even think this person was even Jewish (I could be wrong)) about how she was silent on the whole I/p conflict. It got to the point where she deleted her account and maybe her other social media pages too due to the constant harassment. This whole thing is just really fucked up.

To be honest I have never seen Israelis/ Jews harass pro pal and anti Zionist pages. When there is disagreements happening- Israeli/jewish bloggers are polite when handling the pro pal and anti Zionist crowds. We stay on track on the argument/ we’re polite but not too kind (because we can only handle so much bull shit)/ we try to guide them to resources that backs up on what we are saying/etc… when I handle them (because they really love to start things with me lol) I did try to be kind to them, but obviously that did not work out. So I’ve stopped being kind- I’m polite. I’ll admit that I do have a mouth on me and cuss words so slip out (but in my defense- I was raised by a dad who had a mouth of a sailor- tbh he could make the sailor look like a saint- and a mom who was raised in both the city and country. Combine that together and you get me lol)

But for the pro pal and anti Zionist crowds it’s totally opposite… like holy crap- and I thought that the pro trump people were bat shit crazy. They are constantly stalking and harassing Israelis/jewish people and their social medias, creating lists, full on spewing antisemitic shit/ etc… they really do terrify me.

It’s really scary that they’ve ramped up their hate. With what’s been happening in college campuses all over the world. If anyone is still in college- please stay safe. Your safety comes first. If you don’t feel safe in an area please leave. If you don’t feel comfortable by yourself, ask someone to go with you. Make sure that you have your phone on you and that it’s charged. Take self defense classes if you can or even watch self defense videos (basic moves can and will save you if you are in danger). If you are going out- make sure you tell someone and even give them your gps location. Document everything too- just in case you need to fill out a police report (even if the police doesn’t do shit, creating a paper trail will help you out). If things gets really bad and you need to drop out of college or switch to online- do it. Don’t risk your health and safety when dealing with those fuckers. To those pro pal and anti Zionist crowds who are participating in these violent protests or see no issues with it- y’all need to fucking open your eyes. You are creating a dangerous atmosphere for everyone and making things really worse.

#jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #fuck antisemitism #fuck hamas #anti zionism = antisemitism #to my jewish and Israeli friends #y’all are amazing #i love you #and please stay safe #to the pro pal and antizionist crowds #stop harassing Jews and Israelis #just fucking stop it #it’s not helping palastine #you are making things worse #y’all I’m so tired of this shit #the jews are tired #please leave us alone

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deviantartdramahub · 6 months ago

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Lol imagine unironically saying kek- https://web.archive.org/web/20240523054740/https://www.deviantart.com/liesoft/status-update/It-really-isn-t-personal-but-1055229175 uh ohhh more slur using!! And honey, what you're saying isn't just swears, they're words created to DISCRIMINATE against people, that's what a slur is, sweetheart. And that's why it's so bad and bigoted. How old are you? It's pretty embarrassing a teenager on the internet has to explain things like this to you. But I suppose not surprising, considering the fact you and your allies live in a magical little world where you all are incapable of doing any wrong, and anyone who suggests you aren't perfect must be exterminated. Also no one asked about this Dollcreep person no one cares why are you giving random ass lore dump lmao. And what makes you think anyone will believe your fake ass proof (btw screenshots aren't valid proof bc they can be manipulatedddd!! How many times do I have to repeat that to you toddler attention span mfs lmfao) when you're proving right there that your harassing is purely out of bigotry?? It's not putting words in your mouth, because the R slur is right there XD

Also I obviously have no problem with normal swearing, I swear all the time, so idk why you're making us out to be little 5 year olds going "MOMMYYYY BIG BROTHER SAID HECK!!!" bc that's not the case at all lmaoo.

Btw more slur using, the fact it's only the one used for disabled people surely is telling. Wonder when they'll start calling Tri the f-slur for being LGBT, bc we know they're obviously not above that. https://web.archive.org/web/20240523171148/https://www.deviantart.com/liesoft/status-update/Would-also-like-to-add-1055290265

It's so fucking hilarious how they're saying we're the ones deleting our comments to avoid backlash when their ally Evie literally just did that very thing. DADN and their allies love doing bad things to throw the blame onto their victims, they do it all the damn time. At this point, "hypocrite" would be a compliment to them. Also Ninja mentioned this post in their most recent ask, so Liar confidently saying Ninja won't see the post is so funny. Uh ohhh they actually look at shit because they have critical thinking skills unlike you uh ohhhh.

Don't even know what ask this one's directed to bc the archive won't let me go to it, and the link's preview doesn't give any clues, but oh well. https://web.archive.org/web/20240523205657/https://www.deviantart.com/liesoft/status-update/Another-retard-spewing-shite-But-1055447327 Blah blah more slurring blah blah also we can tell you have no friends lol.

Alright bye bye looks like someone wants to be the new Mod-S bc their goddess abandoned them lmaooo so sad and pathetic :3

Which means I'll probably have to post frequently again and call out more bullshit. Sighhh... -_-

(But my source of knowing about these posts is Ninja's asks, so if Ninja can keep alerting me about these, it'd be greatly appreciated <3

Also, if I remember correctly, slurs are against DA rules.

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cokowiii · 1 year ago

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OMG UNCLE COKO THE WORST THING HAPPENED TO ME!!

For the last 2 days I was wondering why I wasn't getting any notifications from you and then I looked. Some how they got turned off, a travesty.

So I spent the last over, I don't actually know how long it took but it was a long time, and it didn't help that I had to work and there's no good Internet there so I can't do anything during breaks. So I had to stop scrolling for long periods of time in between trying to catch up.

I love all the random little posts you make even the ones that make no sense at all. So I wasn't so sad about having so much to read. And your art is just so squishable, this new au is just the cutest thing ever. I'm really digging this new oc, Pippin. I love ocean life but hate the ocean. Jellyfish are just so cool to look at and are just fascinating

Same things been happening to me. I AINT getting notifications from peeps I got them on for

Happy ya liked all the shit that’s been getting spewed out lol. Been a lot of just random honestly but fun nonetheless:D the ocean could be cool if we could just explore more of it

Who knows what’s down there

#asks and replies

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glitchyk · 3 months ago

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I love seeing my mutuals browse my blog, even if all they do is like the content, it makes me happy to see that people I know or see as at least close acquaintances in some cases, are happy with my work and also acknowledging I exist lol

Skahsksjakak chat ig it’s time for my brain to start spewing random shit/j

#glitchyk randomness #/silly

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bisluthq · 4 months ago

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I don't really see Joe as looking or having the body of a finance guy tbh why, because he has a more serious look to me? Like he might not be a poet in the sense of the word, but I feel like that's playing the stereotype of guys in finance being big boring nerds. And I don't think Joe is like that. His job is not even close to a more science/math field, it actually plays with creativity. So if we were to put on a scale to me he's closer to being a poet than a finance guy.

I kinda always saw that line in like a Troy Bolton way (regardless if it's about Joe or not). As in he played basketball and then one day he discovered a secret talent for singing he didn't know it was there. And singing was like very different and outside of the stereotype for an athlete. So to me, that was what she was going for. A finance guy that we actually don't see as someone creative, suddenly spewing poetry like he had that poet thing inside of him all along. And that was what she was asking or hoping, like tell me your secrets and spill them in poetry as if you were a finance guy that has this secret talent inside of him

idk I’m ngl Joe looks exactly like most (attractive and successful) millennial finance guys I know. They all go to the gym (not super religiously but they go), they all dress kinda that way (like nice things™️ but not super duper fashion forward/conscious), they all collect random expensive shit (as he does), most if not all have interests outside of finance (hobbies, things they read about/listen to/watch etc). Describing Joe as a poet in the body of a finance guy makes sense for me as a diss and is just a little dig at the stuff he did write with/for her (which, if we’re being very honest, is not generally the most profound or genius of ideas - again, no shade - cool songs - but I can see her saying “I hate it here” about the Sweet Nothing songwriting session when she could’ve been in studio with Matty who has more ideas and more out there ideas). It’s not a nice thing to say about your ex of many years but lol she hated it there at the end.

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reverieaudios · 1 year ago

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are we allowed to just send random bullshit ? i hope we are because your characters give me many thoughts im going very insane and i apologize in advanced on how LONG this ask is gonna be compared to others because its probably just gonna be my barely filtered rambling its late at night man idk .

like . ive nicknamed cyril cereal and dion dawn dish soap ( silly story , some of my friends saw me agonizing over a little concept design i was making for him and under his name i put “dish soap” in parentheses because yeah and my friend read it as “die on dish soap” and that turned into “dine on dish soap” (( would dion drink dish soap …????? )) so now hes just known as the dawn dish soap guy among my two friends that witnessed that 😭 )

while im being an idiot im just gonna spew my other random thoughts here:

analog horror creatures in your universe except its literally just the mimics fucking w everyone . ( i love the crosspoints so much hello can i eat it can i eat the lore please just all of it tbh not just the crosspoints personally i think itd be very scrumptious )

kanes name just reminds me of kane pixels . i just like imagining him staring at a computer like “how to horror how to backrooms etc etc” its probably not in character whatsoever and also thats two in a row about things that are kinda horror related

the crosspoints image kindalooks like something that could be in omegamart tbh ( did i mention how much i love the crosspoints ? i dont think i mentioned how much i love the crosspoints yet . i will eat those hexagons . /j ) . like itd be animated and very cool floor or something ( even if it might not fit in with the omegamart lore it just … the vibes . it gives . )

also cyril is so real for having marina and the crane wives in his playlist i love the crane wivesUHH anyways thats it i think

im . so , so sososososo sorry for the length of this i just needed to get these thoughts out of my head ( nobody shouldve ever let me think thoughts . im like that “full of soup” meme but its “full of mixed fandom shit” ) aNYWAYS HAVEANICEDAYyouresocoolbtwiloveyourcontentKBYEE

This made me grin so much you have no idea lol

I feel like in it's normal, labled container, Dion probably wouldn't eat it. But you know how some people will put their dish soap in more aesthetic bottles that could pass for oil or vinaigrette bottles? I could see some getting tasted on accident. Just a lil taste.

And my background is actually in horror, so I'm loving all these references lol

Thanks for writing all this out and sharing your thoughts, it makes me so happy to know you're enjoying what I've made!

#asks #seriously though no need to apologize I love hearing your thoughts #cereal made me giggle

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eoieopda · 2 years ago

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blog info

⇢ how tf do i pronounce your username?

oy-OPE-da. it’s the romanized version of 어이없다, which is one of my favorite korean words. listen to hoshi scream it here.

⇢ why do you have a problem with minors and ageless blogs?

i discussed this here. as of summer 2023, i am no longer blocking ageless blogs and am instead ignoring their interactions unless and until i have some reason to believe they're an adult. see here for some ways that i (and other creators) approach this.

⇢ can i request to be tagged for new stories or new parts?

i don't do fic-specific tags (with the exception of force quit) because it's a massive hassle. instead, i have permanent taglists which include fics/chapters + drabbles:

multi (for all of the groups listed below)

bts

seventeen

stray kids

ateez

⇢ can i tag you in xyz?

i track #eoieopda archive (and also #eoieopdaarchive because some people use that instead). i don't like to be tagged outright in fics if:

i didn't sign up for a taglist or otherwise consent to be tagged

i didn't beta it or have anything to do with its creation, and/or

we don't know/talk to each other (because i can't vouch for whatever it is you've tagged me in — or you, personally — and don't want to be explicitly linked to it).

⇢ when is xyz being posted/updated?

when i have the brain juice and time and i want to 😌

⇢ why is xyz on hiatus/discontinued?

likely because i, icarus, have flown too close to the sun. sometimes, the idea part of my brain moves faster than the follow-through part; and i need to take a silly little break before i’m able to pick up a story. sometimes, i lose interest entirely and will then remove something from my masterlist + make it very clear that a series is discontinued.

personal

⇢ your real name was leaked — can i call you that?

it doesn't bother me if people use my govt. name when they talk to/about me! my whole tagging system uses my nickname (jade) because my actual name wasn't supposed to get out, so that's (primarily) how i'm going to refer to myself on here.

⇢ you said you were adopted —can you tell me xyz about this entire process, what you know of your birth parents, what you remember about korea, etc.?

no thanks! i know very little about the whole thing because i was literally 18 months old. i've also had experiences on here where users' entire communication with me has been to ask/talk about these things, which is icky at best and fetishistic at worst (whether or not it's intentional).

⇢ i’m not korean — can i call you unnie/noona/hyung?

i don’t have a problem with this, and i actually find it pretty cute. keep in mind that my opinion here isn’t universal amongst koreans; and i did not grow up in my own culture, so koreans that did are entitled to feel differently.

⇢ can i come into your inbox and ask very invasive questions about your personal life and/or spew racist garbage and/or erase your identity and/or tokenize you?

thanks for checking — absolutely not! playing stupid games will win you stupid prizes (aka being blocked and/or reported).

⇢ i’m confused by your pronouns — which should i use?

my gender identity is essentially the ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ emoticon at this point, so i use both she/her and they/them. and by that, i mean: pls don’t stick to one or the other (exclusively she, exclusively they) because i am not exclusively either.

i’m comfy with almost all “gendered” terms (sis, bro, dude, girlie, sir, ma’am, gworl, etc.) because i think gender is fake, lol. i do not vibe with “queen”, though, and i don’t know why. #kingjade

⇢ is it cool if i pop into your ask box with random thoughts, memes, tiktoks, non-k-pop stuff, etc.?

hell yeah, brother! let’s be friends.

⇢ you talk so much and it’s clogging up my dash — what do?

check my tag index here and filter shit to your heart's content!

requests (read the rules here before submitting)

⇢ who will you write for?

bts, seventeen, stray kids, and ateez.

i don't write for han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, or choi jongho as a personal preference. i adore them, but i don't see them in a romantic and/or sexual light.

⇢ are there any requests you won’t take?

i’m open to trying most kinks, dynamics, and AUs, depending on what's being requested of me (and the weather, what i ate for breakfast, the lunar phase, etc.) i'm down with poly!member x reader; and member x reader x member (etc.) dynamics, but i don't currently write strictly member x member.

hard passes:

non-con

anything involving minors

harry potter AUs

⇢ did you get my request? are you done yet?

pleeeeaaaaaaaaseeeee don’t. i did get your request. i’m a full-time attorney with fibromyalgia & ADHD and therefore cannot make any promises that my brain and/or body and/or schedule will allow me to finish things quickly.

i don’t complete every request i receive! sometimes, the requests are too similar to what i’ve done already, they don’t spark anything for me, etc. i reserve the right to pick and choose what i spend my time on.

rev. 12/9/23

#frequently asked questions #jade’s faq #faq

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o-daintyduck · 2 years ago

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Love your post, however that speech was literally the billionaire character just saying words that aren’t true (he did not break the system. He operated perfectly witching the system. Arguably he is the system.)

Yes, exactly!

RJ has a way of subverting meaning. He likes to throw in these elaborate concepts for the audience to grapple with, while he sets up a different simpler solution for the end.

in TLJ, it was Kylo Ren who proposed to Rey, to let the entire rebellion burn down along with his own army (forgive me, I haven't engaged in Star Wars since TROS, I've forgotten lol) To make a new order. He has no loyalties, no allegiances- which helps him to make this totally selfless decision for the galaxy, he thinks that helps him think clearly. Only do we later come to know, Kylo Ren is still a troubled teenager revolting against his parents and uncle. That MORE! MORE! performance with the petulance of a child coupled with Adam Driver's grown ass seriousness drums into the audience that someone who's this messed up cannot possibly be onto something that profound. Rey's refusal suddenly makes sense, right? Yes, and no. Through the closing shot of the broom boy, a random kid, somehow using the force, Rian says to f with that right or left line of thinking. That would've been the final nail in the coffin of the rigid Jedi order. The past giving way to the future. Bye bye nihilism. (That is until December 2019 shit all over that lmao)

Here, Miles is an idiot spewing words that make him seem like a revolutionary, which everyone in the room knows he isn't. Something something cognitive dissonance. The soccer mom turned law maker, who paved her way into politics on the shoulders of grassroots "lefties", has she changed the system from within? Nah. The scientist still has to make sense of batshit ideas at 2 am. Is he creating things of value? Nah. They disrupted nothing. They hacked the system to profit them, spent years solidifying the wrongness of it, then folded at the first sign of disruption. They are the system now. You're absolutely correct. I guess, I was looking at it from the other angle.

Miles' (Rian's) words are finally awarded meaning when Helen takes it upon herself to break, literally and metaphorically, the layered made-up tower of decadence in the climax- like Andi, she wasn't afraid to. She also had nothing to gain from it, other than disrupting the (un)natural order of things.

#glass onion spoilers #glass onion #replies #the last jedi #rian johnson

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izzy-b-hands · 1 year ago

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Ongoing PTSD breakdown trauma stuff below the cut, pls ignore, just need to spew it somewhere that like. I know my feelings will be safe to have and type up and whatever. Also, sorta? mild our flag spoilers under the cut bc my brain is a mess and I use characters I love to help metaphor out and explain my own shit so. yeah. that's also a thing here.

Motherfucking random traumatic memory abt Mum fucking. Randomly hitting me while I'm writing fic (for no apparent reason, no idea what triggered my brain to throw this at me when I WAS NEARLY DONE WITH THE FUCKING FIC NO LESS)

So goddamn rude. I'm off my track on the fic now, so I'm setting it aside for the night (we have Ren Faire today (it literally just hit midnight lol), but after that I want to get back to it) and realising I should really write this memory down.

Like. all of the little details about it, the bits of Mum and I and our relationship surrounding it. Both because my brain does tend to shutter some of those things away and makes them hard to get to without it being stupid lengthy a process involving talking out every feeling I'm having with someone else(unless it pulls some shit like tonight, then suddenly it's no fucking problem throwing it all over the place apparently) and because like

I don't know if I could say this one out loud to anyone, but I think I should. Probably a therapist, but it's one of those stupid trauma things of you just Want Someone, Anyone To Know, Now. To acknowledge it and say if it was as fucked up as it feels (bc I will never deny the possibility that I'm being dramatic and it isn't, and I should just. chill the fuck out about it.)

But every time I start trying to type it out I get hit with this wave of a physical response where my arms and wrists and fingers feel like they're clenching up and I Can't type it. And there's a part of me that doesn't want to because if I can see it in letters on a page, then it's real. It's real and it happened and maybe it was as fucked up as it feels like it was and if that's all true then like. it fits with everything else about our relationship that's already fucked up, from the severe (better than it used to be, but I'm sure it's very clear to y'all that it's still Not Good even though I've moved away from her) co-dependence to the emotional incest (fun fact: that term feels like a gut punch every time I hear it, and I've heard it from my therapist more than a few times now over the past 9ish years of treatment.) So I shouldn't be shocked by that or like, upset, right?

Yet I'm here typing this out to put off typing it up, and I'd bet money I don't necessarily have that I'll wind up putting my laptop away, showering, and going to bed without getting it typed. For better or for worse.

Part of the reason I worry so much abt Frenchie this season (aside from that I love him and he's one of my faves and I want nothing but good and happy for him) is because I also subscribe to his 'shove all the fucked up shit you've seen/experienced in a box in your mind and just. Never open it unless you're putting more in there' method of coping (have all my life, it was so weirdly validating to see it onscreen like that explained so plainly) and like. This is me when the box somehow pops open when I didn't mean it to, and I both want Frenchie to be able to process the things that have happened to him but also don't want to see a character I love so much hurt like this. Because it feels like a big stupid gaping open wound in my chest that I'm being entirely too dramatic about, no matter how valid feeling that way abt it might be.

Kind of hope I can just shut the lid on the box so I can get done and go to sleep after I post this. Should I actually type out the memory and everything? I hate to think that the answer my therapist would have given me, if I could afford to be seeing her rn, would be yes. But the thing is, I have fucking Ren Faire tomorrow in my Izzy cosplay (that Housemate says I look good in, which I'll vainly admit I'm rather happy about, even if it is a very inaccurate and homemade cosplay that's missing certain details I can't yet afford to buy), and I don't want to be dealing with any of this for the rest of the night/into tomorrow. I need to sleep so I can go have some fucking fun, for once. I even feel ok to bring my cane with folded in my bag, just in case I need it, bc that would still be in character if I wind up needing to use it. I can count on one hand the times I've had a fun experience where I also felt safe admitting when my body was hurting and using a physical aid to help it get by; I'm not losing this one.

It's not getting typed out, and I need to duct tape that fucking box shut for now.

#text post #long post #tw ptsd #ngl kind of feeling exhausted and can't think of what other tws to add so if y'all see one I should have pls msg me and I can add asap #here or on discord if u have my discord info whatever works #im going to shut my laptop down shower and try to force myself to cry in there #bc the fact that I haven't had a big physically painful sob session means I'm not fully done with this rough patch bc they ALWAYS get bette #after I have The Big Sob Session #until I have it I just have to work hard to keep myself together and not let it affect other stuff which tbh #this stuff ive carried so long that even in like. active breakdown or wtf ever u wanna call it #masking and getting by in public is somehow still easy enough #but that's another thing I'm fucking off to the shower pls cross ur fingers and toes that i at least cry a little in there so I can sleep l

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pansexualkiba · 1 year ago

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@panda-monium64 you've opened the floodgates. Get ready for some shit.

PART TWO OF A SERIES. I'LL HAVE A MASTERPOST UP LATER.

TOUHOU SEISONOMOTO ~ GARDEN OF ETERNITY

I'll give you three guesses what the focal point of this one is.

Fun fact! As originally planned, this story would not only be happening SIMULTANEOUSLY to WDI, but also, for some reason, to Marine Benefit, a fangame I have no affiliation with due to being in MIDDLE SCHOOL when it was released. Because it was "developed" directly after WDI, but the characters were essentially revealed at the same time, I just sorta now place them as happening consecutively.

The plot: A giant fucking walled garden has appeared along the edges of the border, somewhere between the Sanzu and the Netherworld (so not directly beneath it). Nothing has happened yet, but people are curious and want to know what's in this weird garden. This has a bit of a Subterranean Animism type thing where the subshot you pick gives you dialogue with a second character whose "faction" wants you to investigate.

Because the theme is the garden, all of the important characters are essentially plant youkai. Of course, there's a bit of cringe here and there since they were also made in middle school. Let's start here.

ENCHOU TSUTA Creeping Plant of Antiquity Species: Ivy Youkai Ability: Capable of extending her limbs The guard of the Garden of Eternity. Due to her ability and stalwart personality, she was given the position of gatekeeper by the garden's boss. She, like many residents of the garden, awoke as youkai after many years of unstopped growth. As such, she can be considered the progenitor of all vine-like plants. Unfortunately, none of this meant anything to the protagonist's strength. She was quickly defeated in short order.

I actually genuinely like this girl? Idk what it is. The cool name, the fact that I made her hair decoration be a ribbon that looks like poison ivy leaves... She's got it all. The fact that I made her some random guard that gets Got in Stage 1 is more or less because I was a real PC-98 truther back then and I wanted to call back to Mystic Square, where the exact same thing happened to Sara. Anyways, now that we have canonical vine bullets, it's a lot easier for me to imagine how Enchou's attacks would actually look.

KOURIKO TANPOPO Snow Flower in July Species: Dandelion Youkai Ability: Capable of causing snowfall A Western-style dandelion youkai. She had desired to see snow right before she had awoken as a youkai. As such, she awakened a snow-bringing power when she awoke. She's completely unaware this is her doing, however, and she just wants to dance around in the unseasonable blizzard. Despite representing both flowering and seeding forms of the dandelion at the same time, she's still quite weak. As such, her threat level as an invasive species really isn't that high. As a side note, she's begun a lucrative business selling "dandelion tea" blends.

This was my favorite back in the day (lol). She's just a little guy, your honor. A little birthday girl. That last name, tho... Yikes. You'll soon find every single girl in this section is named after their plant unless further pointed out. This ended up being the naming convention for the Beast Realm Matriarchs in canon, so, uh... Whoops? Also, I think she reappears in the phantasmagoria-type. (Why did I put dandelion tea in quotes... It is tea. Why am I suspicious of this?)

MIRYOKU MOUSENGOKE Insectivorous Flower Species: Sundew Youkai Ability: Manipulation of attraction A youkai of a carnivorous flower. Her personality is to draw in insects before eating them whole. As such, she's rather like a fisherwoman. Her ability refers to not only her ability to spew insect-attracting pheromones, but also gravitational and electromagnetic attraction as well. As such, she's actually rather dangerous, despite her rather placid nature. She attacked the protagonist because she accidentally thought they were prey. It's sort of a parable of biting off more than you can chew, in that regard.

Another girl that tries to eat the protag... What was going on back then. Anyways, this girl is like, HELLA dangerous. I like how like, the edgy bits came in WDI in the latter half, but this chick is just here as THE edgy bitch in GoE. Fun fact, this girl did some cocomelon shit to me so bad that I made one of my personal e-mails one of her Spell Cards despite having NO REASON to do that. That's the power of carnivorous plants, I guess.

FUKU INABA Sake-Drunk Rabbit Species: Rabbit Ability: Capable of controlling alcohol levels A subordinate of Tewi Inaba. She was sent to investigate the garden, but was caught by Miryoku, along with a couple other youkai. Thanks to the protagonist, they were all freed, but Fuku needs to finish her investigation. With that, she attacked. -- INOE HIGASHIOKA Spice-Laden Tengu Species: White wolf Tengu Ability: Capable of tripling an object A white wolf tengu sent as a scout. Acting under orders from Lord Tenma himself, she entered the garden and was captured for food. Luckily, the protagonists freed her, so she was free to continue her scouting mission. She attacks Reimu out of a misplaced annoyance for Aya. Her ability does not extend to living things, but it does extend to gases, so she's extremely good at smokescreens. -- SANMI FUKUMURA Red-Meat Human Species: Human Ability: Capable of using magic stones A human from the outside world. She found herself wandering into Gensokyo sometime during the Foreign Youkai Incident. She is currently employed at the Scarlet Devil Manor as an assistant to Patchouli. She was sent to look into the garden by Remilia, but she was caught easily. She was just on her was out when she was attacked. -- SUIKIN TAKISHIMA Mineral-Rich Kappa Species: Kappa Ability: Capable of manipulating ores A scout sent by the kappa. She got into the garden just fine, but was captured by Miryoku. Luckily, the protagonist set her and a couple other inhabitants free. As thanks, Suikin offered to take over the investigation, but was promptly shot down.

The stage 4 midboss squad!!! Which one you face is dependent on who you have as your subshot. Their main purpose is to show that a good chunk of people have their eyes on the garden, and also to have jokes in their titles about how they were almost fucking eaten alive. I think of these four, Sanmi was the one that my friend liked the most? Very odd, that, but what can you do. I guess that's the power of the SDM.

DONNA BELLA Flower of Cassandra Species: Nightshade Youkai Ability: Capable of seeing the future A nightshade youkai that can foresee future events. She did, indeed, foresee that the garden would arrive, and indeed, foresaw not only the protagonist's arrival, but also her own defeat. The problem is that no one believes her visions. She's learned a little trick, however: if she phrases her visions just right, people will still believe them. The way to do this is to phrase her visions as the opposite of what will actually happen, so that people believe the contrary, and therefore the real vision. With that in mind, she set off to actively guide the protagonist to the main boss of the garden, as their aimless rampaging through the area would do no good to anyone. Not that anyone would believe her if she gave her real reason. Later, she showed up to help lead the protagonist to Tsukiko, to minimize property damage first and foremost.

THIS NAME........ THIS NAAAAAME......... BELLADONNA. DONNA BELLA. I mitigated my embarrassment at the time by making her theme title Italian... My little ass thought I was being SOOO CLEVER... Anyways this is a very fun weird inversion of Sagume's powers - Sagume actively cannot tell the truth, because the inverse of that will happen. Meanwhile, Donna's ability means that people won't believe her visions, so she lies so people believe the opposite. I just thought that was very funny. It's also pure luck they're both Stage 4 bosses - remember, I made this batch in middle school. Ten Desires was the hot new thing back then.

KUSURI KESHI Bitter Medicine Species: Poppy Youkai Ability: Capable of causing hallucinations The youkai of an opium poppy. She is the boss of all the poppies in the garden, especially in her field. She can put humans to sleep if she has enough of her subordinates working in tandem. However, they're all too laid-back and disorganized for this formation to ever actually work. Her ability lets her create the illusion of shifting shapes, but like all hallucinations, this vanishes when you reach for it. She actually has no relation to the overall incident, but she happened to be in the way of the protagonists.

Remember when I said I was an edgy middle schooler? My stupid little ass went "yeah let's put DRUGS in Touhou". Not as bad as it could have been, really? I sorta also mixed in the poppy field from The Wizard of Oz into this girl as well. I think it's sorta funny that I pointed out that she just has literal no fucking relationship to anyone in the hierarchy of the Garden, she's just sorta Just A Guy. Normally the unrelated mooks are stage 1 fodder.

SHIGAI HIGANBANA Necro-Romantic Corpse Flower Species: Rafflesia Youkai Ability: Capable of manipulating corpses The youkai of a rafflesia plant. Long ago, the Garden of Eternity was watched over by two humans. However, they were given knowledge, and upon defying their guardian's wishes, were exiled from the Garden. The garden, no longer watched over or guarded, soon grew untamed. Eventually, youkai began to spring forth from the plants. The immediate question was this: who was to take charge? Naturally, many strong youkai put forward themselves, but before any could act, a voice rang out. "It is only natural that I, the oldest of you all, should lead." The smell of rotting flesh filled the air, and Shigai Higanbana became known. Though centuries passed and the winds and animals carried away seeds to spread their descendants, the Garden had yet to be rediscovered by man. It got to the point where people began to wonder if there even was such a place. Thus, the Garden was moved to Gensokyo by complete accident, shocking everyone with its massive size. "Perhaps it moved to save itself." That is what Shigai thought to herself, getting ready to appear to her subordinates to calm them. That's when the protagonist arrived.

I don't think I need to explain what this fucking plot is about. I was like "oh this is SUCH a good plot twist" and as of now it's like. Yeah this could probably happen nowadays. But it seems TOO obvious. Also this was before I knew about The Last Comer so me being like "OMG....... Touhou Christianity....." but I also didn't want to just make Jesus, yknow? Anyways Shigai Higanbana is such a cool bitch. Her design has a little crown and she has rafflesia patterns on her skirt. She's leading the Garden and she has a Spellcard called "Higanbana's Monster". I love her so much. She's exactly the type of edge I'm not embarrassed about I WISH I could be this creative about OCs again.

TSUKIKO TORIKABUTO Poison Flower of the Moon Species: Monkshood Youkai Ability: Capable of manipulating moonlight A youkai of an aconite bloom. She has a nocturnal lifestyle, making her rather untrustworthy to the other, more sun-loving inhabitants of the garden. However, using her power, she can make moonlight stronger than its base form, sunlight. Despite the distrust of the other plants, she does care for everyone, and thus she leads a night patrol of which she is the only guard. Like Shigai and Donna, she actually knows what the garden's original name was, but she finds it unnecessary knowledge at this point. "Events in the past are in the past." Her power to control moonlight sent warning signs to the Lunar Rabbits currently living in Gensokyo, so they alerted the protagonists. And that is how she found her next guard shift under attack.

Technically, Tsukiko could be considered Enchou's direct superior. Make of that what you will. Anyways, what kind of fucking simplistic-ass name is Tsukiko? Love it when all these girls from like, the Fertile Crescent or whatever have Japanese names for some inexplicable reason. I think I get better at this later? Tsukiko really is just some bitch and I love her for it, but she's really just sorta here, isn't she. I ALSO love how I implied that literally only three people know the name of the Garden, but the only one who deems it relevant information is the leader of the whole place, and she never tells any of the inhabitants anyways. To be fair, they may not be curious in the first place.

If I had to place the Garden's inhabitants on a scale, I'd say they're on the Medicine Melancholy level of complete non-interference. As long as no one goes into the Garden, they're just completely unbothered about the whole thing. The only exception, I'd say, is Kouriko, who goes on to start selling tea blends to the Human Village. I don't know what she needs the money for, but it really does seem you can just sorta, sell whatever you want and no one will stop you. A fun fact about the Garden is that the closer you get to the side of the wall near the Barrier, the denser the forest gets until it's just a jungle devoid of light. I don't know where Shigai's getting the corpses for her attacks, but she IS near the Sanzu, geographically. Maybe that has something to do with it?

Anyways, in a few weeks' time, the most important Incident in this series will take place. And it all starts... With a meteor shower.

#Touhou #Touhou OC #panda-monium64 #Enchou Tsuta #Kouriko Tanpopo #Miryoku Mousengoke #Donna Bella #Kusuri Keshi #Shigai Higanbana #Tsukiko Torikabuto #Fuku Inaba #Inoe Higashioka #Sanmi Fukumura #Suikin Takishima #i wish i could draw. I need to show you these cool fucking plant outfits.

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